


Try Again

by aquariumclouds



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Developing Relationship, Fluff, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Not Beta Read, Suggestive Themes, Time Loop
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-17
Packaged: 2020-04-08 01:12:02
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 9
Words: 12,133
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19096699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquariumclouds/pseuds/aquariumclouds
Summary: Noctis is killed. Over and over and over again. In every timeline. In every possibility. No matter the outcome. Noctis Lucis Caelum will die. He is forced to relive his death of previous lives through nightmares. No matter what he does or who he turns to, he knows he will die every time the timeline is reset. But who is resetting the timeline and trapping Noctis in an endless cycle of death?





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So I had a little ( big ) idea pop into my head and have decided to roll with it. I've recently retired from another hobby of mine that involved writing, but I still want to write, and here we are. This first piece is pretty short but I'll be working on trying to get the next chapter up as soon as I can. Enjoy.

Noctis remembers the first time he died. At least, it’s the first memory he can recall. 

It happens during the signing ceremony. Niflheim and Lucis are to forge an alliance in order to put an end to the war that had raged on between them for centuries. Everyone was hopeful, though not everyone was happy with the terms. Things are going fine, but there’s tension in the room. Noctis doesn’t recall why he was there, he feels he originally wasn’t supposed to be there, but he’s there. Dressed up prim and proper in the pinstripe suit he hates. As everyone rises from their seat to begin the ceremony, the Emperor pulls out a gun and shoots Noctis between the eyes from across the table. He doesn’t remember feeling any pain, but he’ll never forget the smug smirk Iedolas wears as his body collapses to the floor and the world fades to black. 

The next time he dies, he’s on the road with his friends. They’re journeying to Altissia so he can wed Lunafreya for the peace treaty. It’s a stupid way to die honestly. Ignis had told him repeatedly not to sit on the back while the top was down and when Ignis had to hit the breaks without warning, Noctis went flying. He tried to warp to save himself from the impact, but he never intended to warp into an oncoming truck delivering vegetables to Lestallum. Talk about twisted irony. 

Another time, it happens when they’re making their way for the Archaean. A man named Ardyn has promised to lead them there and help them get beyond the blockade. Half way there, the sun is going down and they decide to stop for the night. There’s no rush to keep going and they can continue first thing in the morning. Ardyn slits his throat in the middle of the night. All of his friends are asleep, and when he tries to cry out upon being jolted awake, there’s a hand pressing harshly against his mouth. The blade makes a clean cut across his throat. Ardyn smiles and holds him down as he bleeds to death in the caravan bed.

In one, he took his own life, driven mad by the memories and consumed by the reality that no one would believe him and no one could help him even if they did. He had hoped it would make it stop, that it might have broken this cycle, but it didn’t. 

Another, he’s thirty years old and banishing the darkness from Eos, sacrificing his life in the process. 

The latest occurrence is strange, because he knows it’s more recent than the others, but it’s confusing and incoherent. It’s obscured, hazy, and dark. The memory is shrouded in black fog, but he understands the horrible feeling that twists his gut everytime he’s forced to relive it: someone he cares about betrays him. Something’s happening. A fight or argument, maybe a scuffle. Familiar voices are shouting, and the next thing he knows, a blade is plunged into his abdomen. He knows there’s more to it, but it gets cut off and he wakes up drenched in sweat and on the verge of vomiting. 

There are more. Tons more. Noctis has lost count. He even tried to keep track a few times but ultimately failed. Not like it matters. Nothing changes. The timeline always resets itself to his twentieth birthday and every time, he dies sometime after. Nothing he says or does changes this. And in every new start, he is forced to relive the memories in his nightmares of his current life. They plague him, it doesn’t matter if he lives only a few weeks or a decade: They’re always there. Reminding him of what happened. Of what will happen. They show him nothing that helps or guides him to change this cycle. 

If there’s a Hell, this must be it, because Noctis Lucis Caelum can’t imagine anything worse than having to die over and over again…


	2. You're a Glaive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis has joined the Kingsglaive in hopes of getting stronger and wiser in order to prevent his death for as long as possible in this new timeline. Too bad they won't let him do anything beyond minuscule tasks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a fair warning, this story will have something of a slow start. Don't expect things to pick up for a few more chapters. I promise though, it'll be worth it.

“Kick his ass!” A cheer echoes. 

“Just who’s side are you on?” 

Noctis suppresses a smirk, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, breathing heavily. Perspiration dots his face and dampens the attire clinging to his body. He takes a minute to catch his breath as he watches the banter ensue. 

“The Prince’s, of course!” Crowe grins widely, mirth in her eyes. She sits along the steps of the Glaive training room, elbows lazily resting again her knees, dressed in her casual clothes. She has the day off, but decided to come and watch her fellow comrades. 

Noctis is pretty sure this is the first timeline he’s joined the Kingsglaive. It took a lot of persistence and arguing with his father before he was allowed to do so. He knows his father still isn’t happy with it, despite all the promises to be safe and listen to his superiors. Of course, they haven’t let him join them on any real missions. He’s helped with gatewatch, which was uncomfortably awkward, and he’s done plenty of training exercises, like they’re doing now, but nothing beyond that. 

It’s been roughly two months since his twentieth birthday and the nightmares are just as relentless as they normally are. Noctis is no longer trying to keep from dying. He knows he will die and this loop will begin all over again. Stopping it is impossible at this point. For now, his goal is to find the person or thing that trapped him in it and to rip them a new one. 

Blue eyes focus on his mock opponent as Noctis tries to pull himself away from the trouble thoughts. Libertus is a rather hefty man and someone could probably underestimate him on the battlefield, especially since warping doesn’t agree with him and he doesn’t do it unless absolutely necessary, but he can fight and hold his own surprisingly well. He’s certainly given Noctis a good match when training. 

Libertus huffs and focuses his attention back on the heir. The match was taking its toll on him, leaving him just as winded and sweating even more so. Determination flashes in his eyes as he points his weapon at Noctis. “Fine. I’m done playing nice. Let’s see how you like this!” In one fluid motion, he drags his blade upwards over his body and vanishes. 

Noctis’s eyes narrow. He’s never seen anyone do that before. Several seconds pass and his anxiety is crawling higher. There’s the faintest of sounds that touch his ears, like metal balls tapping against each other. Noctis glances around slowly, reminding himself not to panic, and see’s the vaguest shift in air, the faintest shimmer. He barely manages to duck in time as something lashes out where his head was seconds prior. Dropping low, he kicks out his leg and is satisfied to feel it connect with something, which is accompanied by a grunt as the invisible spell fades. Jumping back up, he throws a punch, but it’s swallowed by Libertus’s hand, who rests his blade against the Prince’s neck. 

The older man finally cracks a smiles, lowering the weapon, and shoves the fist away playfully. “Not bad,” he remarks. “You know, for a Prince.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Noctis rolls his eyes, shaking out his hand, and crosses his arms as he fixes him with a pointed look. “I’m tired of all this training. When do I get to join you guys out on the field?” 

“Who won?” Crowe calls out, genuinely curious, as she jumps up from her spot to make her way over. 

“I did,” Libertus barks back, making Noctis scoff. 

“Hardly. I broke your technique and dodged your attack. Therefore, I won.” 

“Hah. If you think getting the enemy to reveal themselves means you’ve automatically won, you’re in for a rude awakening, kid,” Crowe says with a shake of her head. There’s a smile on her lips. “Drautos will never let you go out on the field at this rate. We can’t have the only Heir of Lucis perishing because of his cocky attitude.” 

If only she knew just how many times he’s perished. Still, it’s not what he wants to hear. Noctis heaves a sigh and wipes an arm across his forehead. He’s sticky and gross from the session, there’s a cold shower with his name on it back in his room. “When will he be back?” 

Drautos had taken out a small group of Glaives to handle a minor problem along the wall. They left three days ago and Noctis was getting impatient for their return. He wants to grow stronger, to lessen the chance of him dying again so quickly, but he can’t do that if he’s stuck doing simple training exercises and mock fights. Drautos is the only one who can grant him permission to go outside the city. Noctis realizes it’s only been six weeks since his father allowed him to join, but it’s not like time is on his side. 

“They’re supposed to be back today.” Libertus blows out a breath and glances at the entryway. “Even simple missions can stretch on longer than expected though.” 

“How ‘bout a ride on my bike through Insomnia? That’ll pass the time,” Crowe suggests at seeing Noctis frown, then crinkles her nose. “But not before you get cleaned up. Stink up my bike and I’ll be the one kicking your ass next time.” 

———

Insomnia’s a beautiful city. It doesn’t matter if its under the sun or the moon, it’s a shining beacon no matter the hour. People fill the shops and businesses while vehicles fill the streets. However, it’s only been able to remain in such a state because of the Crystal and magical barrier his father holds over it. 

As Crowe weaves her bike in and around afternoon traffic, getting some irritated honking in the process, Noctis finds himself lost to his memories again. Despite not remembering much or having the finer details of previous timelines, he knows Insomnia falls to Niflheim each time. Even without seeing it, the implication is always there in his nightmares. That seems just as unavoidable as his death is. Something that can’t be changed. Maybe there’s a connection there, but he can’t find it. He’s afraid to try telling someone that he knows what’s going to happen. He wonders if he had already tried it previously and failed. It’s a damn shame the only thing he can recall are his deaths and the incidents leading up to them. 

Crowe takes him down to the slums, where she and the other Glaives live. It’s different from the rest of the city, certainly not as nice or as high class, but there’s a charm about it that Noctis secretly loves. Something foreign yet homey. The streets are more narrow, but they’re not as busy as around the rest of the city. The smell of fried foods wafts through the air. Shops and outdoor stands fill the area. Crowe parks her motorcycle along a specific sidewalk and the two disembark. 

As she padlocks the bike so no one can take off with it, Noctis watches her. He’s pretty sure he favors Crowe out of all the Glavies he’s met so far. She’s friendly enough, but she also doesn’t take anyone’s crap and is no pushover. Much like Libertus, she speaks her mind and isn’t afraid to express when she’s not happy with something. Both she and Libertus don’t use formalities with him unlike the other Glaives, unless they’re teasing or taunting him during their sparring matches. It reminds him of his own friends. 

The only heart wrenching thing about this is that he knows it won’t last. He doesn’t want to get close to anyone anymore, because it’ll mean saying goodbye when he’s not ready. It means building relationships only to watch them go down the drain. It means that none of them will remember these moments or their relationships the next time around. Noctis is afraid one day, he’ll shut everyone out completely, if only to protect his own state of mind. It’s bad enough he has to go through it with Ignis, Prompto, and Gladiolus. He doesn’t want to keep adding more to that list. 

“What’s with that look?” Crowe bumps her shoulder against his. “Thought you loved it here?” 

“Sorry, I just…got lost in my thoughts,” Noctis admits meekly with a small smile. It’s too late to stop it. He’s already grown attached to Crowe and the others. At least they won’t have to suffer remembering when the timeline resets itself. That’s the only comfort he can find and he clings to it as he follows her to their usual spot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Crowe deserved better. You bet Nyx's fine ass I'm gonna make her BFFs with Noctis.


	3. Nyx Ulric

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Glaives return, but tempers flare. However, the Prince is given an unexpected surprise.

Noctis is in the middle of eating his skewers when Libertus joins them. As usual, he complains about how it’s not Galahdian and that it tastes like a “chocobo turd”, making Crowe quietly snort as she takes a drink from her cup. It’s a scene that’s normal and it helps Noctis forget about his predicament. For a little while, he can pretend things are normal, and that’s enough. 

“You don’t know what you’re missin’, Prince,” Libertus finally says with a wave of his hand. “Galahdian skewers put this stuff to shame.” 

“Then maybe you should try cooking instead,” Crowe challenges, gesturing with her empty stick towards the cook, who is glaring from behind the counter. 

“Maybe I will,” Libertus huffs proudly, meeting the cook’s glare with one of his own. 

Noctis nibbles on his skewers, taking his time with them as the sun slowly sinks, casting them amongst shadows. Lamps light up the area and streets around them. They remain, even after they’ve finished their meal. They’re waiting for word on the team, making sure everyone comes back alive. Drautos is out there with them, so Noctis believes they’ll be alright. 

“You guys sure took your sweet time, Luche. Run into trouble out there?” Libertus’s voice snaps Noctis from his thoughts. 

The name makes him instantly straighten. Luche was one of the Glaives sent with Drautos. If he’s back, then that means all of them are. His gaze shifts to the man who just arrived, dirty blond hair slicked back, not a strand out of place, as he steps over to his usual spot by the railing. 

“Where’s Drautos?” Noctis can’t help but jump to his feet. 

Luche fixes his attention on him. “If you’re hoping to speak with him, it’s not going to happen. He’s reporting in with His Majesty.” The man leans against the wooden structure, crossing his arms, beady eyes still locked on the Prince. “You’re not ready for the field, so don’t even bother.” 

A spike of annoyance flusters Noctis, not liking the authoritative tone used against him. He knows he promised to listen to his superiors, but… “I am,” he insists curtly, lifting his chin. 

“Please,” Luche scoffs, “you can’t even beat Libertus in a simple sparring match. Do you really expect anyone to believe you’re ready to fight on the battlefield, against real enemies who won’t hesitate to kill you on site? You’d be dead within a matter of seconds.” 

Noctis curls his hands into fists. There’s something about Luche that rubs him the wrong way, despite the logical perspective. Maybe it’s the fact he’s openly embarrassing him in front of Libertus and Crowe. Or maybe it’s the fact he knows as harsh as Luche sounds, they agree. 

“Are we late to the party or did we come at a bad time?” Pelna Khara asks as he enters their private little area with another in tow right behind him. 

Noctis bites his tongue and exhales slowly, though his fists remain clenched. He likes Pelna, despite not having as many interactions with him as he does with Crowe and Libertus. The man is genuine and warm, and occasionally tries to crack a joke if it means breaking unnecessary tension. The last thing Noctis wants to do is snap at him. “I was just leaving,” he mutters, pivoting and moving to storm past the two Glaives. A hand catches his wrist, making Noctis stop. He jerks his gaze to peer at the man accompanying Pelna. 

Nyx Ulric. 

Nyx has been dubbed as a “Hero” by his friends and comrades. Noctis assumes this is because he does heroic stuff on the battlefield, though it sounds like half the stunts he pulls are reckless. Word gets around that Nyx isn’t always the best at following a direct order and ends up on gatewatch from time to time as punishment, but that’s about all Noctis knows of the man. He also appears to be close friends with Crowe and Libertus, judging from the interactions Noctis has witnessed between them. Nyx has sat in and watched some of his sparring matches before, but they’ve never personally interacted one-on-one. 

Noctis doesn’t speak, but he hopes the frustration and irritation shows clear enough on his face for him to get the point. 

“I think everyone knows, Luche. Stop being such a buzz kill,” Nyx speaks, turning his gaze to him. 

Luche fixes both of them with a hard look. “I’m only saying what needs to be said. Babying His Royal Highness won’t do us any favors. Certainly won’t keep him from getting himself killed.” 

Noctis tenses at the words. Pelna saves the day though, bringing up an occurrence that happened on their assignment and distracting Luche. Bit by bit, the tension ebbs from his shoulders. It’s not their fault. How could they know Noctis has gotten himself killed so many times. He should be used to it, hearing such words shouldn’t bother him, but you never get used to dying, even when you expect it. 

“Come sit back down, hm? I don’t think Crowe is ready to leave yet,” Nyx mentions, letting go of his wrist. 

He’s right. Crowe is back to chatting with Libertus and even partaking in Pelna’s discussion with Luche. If he leaves, she has to as well, to make sure he gets back to the Citadel safely. But her friends just got back and he realizes how selfish it is to pull her away from them. So Noctis shuffles back to his seat to patiently wait. 

“How’s your training going?” Nyx asks after getting settled with his own skewers in the seat next to him. 

“Boring.” There’s no point in hiding how he feels. His eyes flick to Luche to see if he heard, but the man has his back to the table, staring out over the slums. “I’ve been training since I was ten. It’s not really that different, except that you guys know how to warp.” Unlike Gladiolus. 

“Libertus show you his technique yet?” 

“You mean making himself invisible so he could try and whack me over the head? Yeah.” Noctis rests his elbow on the table and drops his chin into his palm. His eyes watch as Crowe socks Libertus in the shoulder, scolding him over some comment he made, while Pelna is trying his hardest not to laugh at the display. Noctis can’t help but smile. 

Nyx finishes one of his skewers before pushing his plate aside and resting his arms on the table. “And did he whack you over the head?” 

“Almost,” Noctis admits, glancing at him from the corner of his eye, his smile fading. “I saw through it, but… he still managed to put his weapon at my throat.” 

“Sounds like you’re improving.” 

Noctis has to do a double take, making sure he heard correctly. He looks at him fully now, head lifted slightly. “Really?” 

“Don’t go getting any ideas,” Nyx chuckles with a knowing smile, returning his focus to the remainder of his meal. “You’re still a long way off from going out on the field.” 

Noctis deflates and drops his hand. Right. Of course. One compliment doesn’t mean they’ll bend on where they stand. “Can I at least start leaning different techniques?” 

“Such as…?” 

Noctis perks up again, eager and hopeful. It might not get him out on the field, but it’ll be something. “Well, Libertus can make himself invisible and Crowe says she can casts pretty powerful magic. Tredd ran up a wall once during one his matches against Luche. And a lot of you can summon shields, like my dad.” 

“I don’t think Libs is ready to give up his little secret and I’m pretty sure Tredd was just showing off.” Nyx appears thoughtful as he dips the last skewer in sauce and takes a bite. “Have you tried to use magic or summon a barrier before?” 

“No.” Noctis looks at his hand. Not in this timeline anyway. There’s a long pause from Nyx. Whether he’s hesitating or just contemplating, Noctis isn’t sure, but each second feels like an eternity as he holds his breath. 

“Tomorrow morning, 5 AM, meet me in the training hall.” With that, Nyx is rising from his seat and grabbing his jacket. 

Noctis just sits there in utter surprise as he watches Nyx tell the others bye before taking his leave. He isn’t sure if he’s giddy with excitement that he’ll finally be able to do something different or horrified he has to wake up so damn early.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I actually wrote this chapter a different way and hated it, so I ended up rewriting 80% of it and I like this much better.


	4. Early Morning Coffee

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nyx and Noctis take some time to bond.

“I hate you.” 

“No, you don’t.” 

The smug bastard is smiling. Noctis is tempted to fly across the room and smack him, except he’s barely awake. His coordination skills aren’t functioning yet. His Glaive uniform is wrinkled and his hair is a disheveled mess. So he settles for glaring at Nyx-fucking-get-up-at-5AM-Ulric instead. “You’re right. I don’t hate you. I loathe you.” 

Nyx is still smiling that smug smile, arms behind his back. “I thought you wanted to learn techniques, Your Highness?” 

“Who wakes up this early?” Noctis makes a face, clearly displeased and grumpy. He could drop to the floor and fall asleep within two minutes if he wasn’t worried about making a mockery of himself. So he buries his face into his hands, trying to scrub the remnants of grogginess away. It takes him a minute before he realizes they’re the only two in the room. “Where’s everyone else?” 

“It’s Sunday.” 

“You made me get up this early on a Sunday?!” Noctis gapes. Maybe he’s being dramatic, but for starters, he didn’t even realize it was Sunday until Nyx had said something. Busying himself in the Kingsglaive and lost to repeated timelines, Noctis doesn’t bother to keep track of the days much anymore. Sundays are the one day off all Glaives get, though everyone is on call in case of emergencies. The only exception is if they’re out on a mission, in which, you don’t get days off. 

“I brought a peace offering,” Nyx promises, the smugness fading as he nods over to the nearby stairs. There’s two styrofoam lidded cups, script printed on the side listing the name of a popular coffee shop. 

Noctis sighs and drags himself over to sit down, grudgingly scooping up one of the cups. A bittersweet aroma wafts from the opening as a thin trail of steam when he pulls out the stopper. He doesn’t like coffee, but he’ll drink it for the caffeine boost. “Really, though, 5AM?” 

“No rest for the weary, Your Highness.” 

Noctis frowns at the saying. What a cold and hard truth that is. He nurses the hot coffee as they sit there in comfortable silence for the next few minutes. 

“Do you know how to use magic?” Noctis asks when he’s had enough of the coffee. He sets the half empty cup aside. 

“Most of us do, though our experiences and levels of mastering it all vary. Crowe and the other mages have the highest affinity for it and are able to cast powerful spells. My magic is nowhere near their level, but it still packs quite a punch.” 

“And warping?” 

“All of us can warp, though not everyone has the stomach for it.” Nyx finishes the rest of his coffee in one swig. 

“Like Libertus?” Noctis can easily remember the man retching after warping during their plenty of their spars. 

The prompt makes Nyx smirk briefly as he nods. “Like Libertus. Usually, it’s new recruits who struggle with adapting to it, but there are a few it never settles with. When you’re on the battlefield though, you’ll risk losing your lunch over losing your life.” He gets to his feet and turns to face the Prince. “Think you’re done loathing me now to try practicing?” 

There’s something about Nyx Ulric’s smile that gets to Noctis. It’s…oddly charming, but there’s something else to it. Something that makes his stomach do flip-flops while contradicting the unique comfort it brings him. “Guess we’ll find out,” he mutters, ducking his head a bit as he rises. Exhaling heavily, he follows the older Glaive to the main training hall section residing outdoors. 

————

It’s a little past noon when Noctis finds himself on his back, panting and exhausted. The sun beats down on the open arena, but clouds are gradually gathering in the distance. It’s going to rain later, at least according to the meteorologists, but what do they know? Half the time they can’t tell the weather to save their lives. A few other Glaives have come in to practice and hone their skills, but none engage with them. 

“You win,” Noctis puffs out, squinting against the light of the sun before closing his eyes. 

Nyx made sure they began with simple warm-ups, and then they had moved on to summoning magic and barriers. Frustration got the better of Noctis when he hadn’t been able to summon either, no matter how hard he tried or did whatever his trainer had advised. It must have been obvious to Nyx, because after a while, he suggested sparring instead. It worked to blow off steam but not much else. 

The sound of footfalls touch his ears and Noctis is aware of someone approaching. A shadow looms over him – and his mind automatically flashes back to the memory of Ardyn slitting his throat in the caravan. A cocktail of fear and panic flood his veins and he flies up into a sitting position, scrambling backwards. 

Nyx. Just Nyx. Who looks more confused than anything. “Your Highness?” 

“I… I’m fine.” No, he’s not. His heart is still pounding and his breath is sawing in and out more raggedly than before. Swallowing, he forces himself to remember where he’s at. That he hasn’t even met Ardyn yet in this timeline. Nobody is going to hurt him here. “Thought you were gonna try and pull another sneak attack,” he finally says, trying to play it off cool, as he gets to his feet. 

Nyx doesn’t look like he believes him. In fact, there’s the faintest hint of concern flickering across his face. “Let’s call it quits for today.” 

“What? No, I’m fine.” 

“In case you forgot, it’s my day off, too. I don’t intend to spend it all on training you.” There’s a pause before he continues, “no offense, Highness.” 

“None taken.” Shrugging, Noctis rubs the back of his neck. He’s trembling, still shaken, and he hates it. “Thanks…for doing this. Even if you did have me wake up so damn early.” 

Nyx lifts his head in acknowledgement, there’s something between a smile and a smirk on his face. “Would His Highness like to get up so early again?” 

“Hell no.” Crossing his arms, Noctis makes a face. “Any earlier than seven in the morning, you’re officially dead to me.” The comment makes the other Glaive chuckle and Noctis realizes he likes it. “We good here?” 

With another smile flashed his way and a nod of dismissal, Noctis takes his leave of the training hall. 

————

_He’s drowning. He’s unable to swim. He claws and kicks at the water preventing him from reaching the surface. His lungs are screaming for oxygen, his limbs are heavy. It’s okay though, because his friends won’t let him die. Any second now, one of them will jump into the water, swim down to grab him, and haul him back to the surface. They’ll scold him for his mistake over camp later while eating one of Ignis’s signature dishes. Then after everyone settles in, he and Prompto will play on their phones, while Ignis enjoys a cup of ebony and Gladio finishes the latest chapter of his book. This will be normal and everything will be alright._

_They should have stopped when Ignis advised to do so. It was getting dark and they all knew daemons had a tendency to pop up in the middle of the road, but Noctis wanted to get back to Cape Caem as soon as possible. They were so close to heading out for Altissia. An iron giant spawned on the bridge, forcing them to stop the car and get out to fight it. During the fight, it had managed to grab Noctis in its fist and squeeze him. He had felt something break inside of his body before it flung him off the bridge and the ocean had gobbled him._

_No one comes. The water is his only companion. It’s everywhere and there’s no escape. Maybe his friends can’t break away from the fight. Maybe they’re dead. Grief fills his heart. For his friends and for himself. Despite knowing it’s futile, he’s still fighting, flailing sluggishly as his body continues to sink. Pain is blooming from his chest and midsection. It dawns on him that even if he manages to survive drowning, whatever broke – or burst – inside of him will probably kill him. He’s going to die again. He’s going to have to do this all over again. It’ll haunt him, just like the other memories do, and there will be no escape._

_He opens his mouth to cry out, water pours in and–_

“Dude, are you listening?” Prompto’s voice shatters the memory. 

Noctis blinks at the window he’s been staring out of at the rain that continues to fall, having been snapped back into the present time. They’re seated at the burger joint Noctis used to work at before graduating high school. Red booths and scratched up tables, while the smell of hamburgers and onions linger in the air. Business looks to be pretty slow, despite it being almost dinner and a Sunday evening. No water. No internal bleeding. No drowning. He’s alright. 

“Sorry. What were you saying?” he asks, resisting the urge to cough, the sensation of water filling his lungs still haunting him. His gaze flickers back to his best friend, trying to give him his attention. 

Prompto groans dramatically, throwing himself back in the booth. “I was saying…that my training with the Crownsguard is going super well.” 

“That’s good.” And he means it, even though the spirit isn’t behind the words. “You must be getting the hang of using a gun then.” 

“Wait ‘til you see me!” He grins proudly, scratching the side of his cheek and takes a moment to bask in the compliment. “How’s your training in the Kingsglaive going?” The blond asks curiously, leaning forward. “Must be a piece of cake.” 

Noctis blows out a breath with a frown. “I’d rather not talk about it,” he says, looking back out the window. 

“That bad, huh?” 

It wasn’t bad. He likes the Kingsglaive, he likes the other Glaives – though Luche is still questionable, and despite being stuck doing nothing but training exercises and sparring matches, he likes those too. It’s his impatience and anxiety for what’s to come that get the better of him and make him so restless to do more. So Noctis just shrugs, unsure how to respond. 

“I know! Let’s go to the arcade.” Prompto grins, already getting up out of his seat. “Been a while. Think you’re up for getting your royal butt kicked?” 

Noctis smiles up at him. He can’t help it. It’s like he’s able to forget everything that’s happened and it sets his mind at ease. “You’re on.” 

Just for a little while, he can pretend things are normal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you know how Noctis can survive a lot of shit in the game? Like being impaled on a sword, blown up by an MT, or squeezed to death by daemons? Yeah, that doesn't fly in my fic, fufu.


	5. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis meets an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a pretty short chapter, but there are some important details in it.

For once, maybe the first time ever in any timeline, Noctis doesn’t have any nightmares about a previous death. 

He’s standing on a hard glassy surface that resembles water. Soft golden orbs of light fall as gracefully and gently as snow from above. The landscape is painted in shades of blues and purples all around him. It’s comforting and soothing. He knows this isn’t a memory, despite being utterly confused. Cautiously, Noctis looks around, taking in his surroundings, before his eyes land on a creature that resembles a small blue fox adorning a horn on its forehead. They stare at one another for a moment before Noctis’s phone chimes and he pulls it from his pocket. 

**[ Do you remember me? ]** the text messages reads. 

Noctis looks back to the small creature. “‘course I do. You’re Carbuncle.” 

The air emitting from Carbuncle is…happy, his large ears twitching curiously. **[ There were previous timelines you didn’t remember me. ]**

Noctis is back to staring. He knows Carbuncle is a magical creature. He helped him when he was a child and lost in the claws of a coma after his accident. How could he have forgotten him? The restarting timeline shouldn’t have any affect on his memories prior to his twentieth birthday. “You know…about the other timelines?” He’s trembling. 

Carbuncle makes a noise of agreement, sitting back on his haunches, puffy tail giving a lazy sway. **[ I know about all of them. I know the timeline loops when you die. ]**

“Then tell me how to stop it,” Noctis pleads, clutching his phone as if its a lifeline as he waits on baited breath. There has to be a way and he’s ready to go to any extremes to end it. His phone chimes and Noctis’s heart plummets when he reads the message, his knees buckling as he sinks to the strange floor. 

**[ You cannot stop this. ]**

The thought of being forever trapped in this cycle is horrifying and destroying. He drops his head, struggling to swallow. To breathe. To accept this. “Is this punishment, then? Did I do something to deserve being forced to repeatedly die?” His voice is a hoarse whisper. 

**[ You’re not the only one suffering. ]**

“The hell does that mean?!” He snaps jerking his head up from the message on his phone, frustration getting the better of him as he smacks his free hand against the glass-like surface beneath him. “Nobody else remembers! How could anyone else be suffering?!” 

Carbuncle seemed unfazed by the Prince’s outbreak. **[ You are not alone. ]**

Noctis buries his face in his hands, choking on the sob building in his throat. He doesn’t understand. Carbuncle means no ill-will, he knows, but he’s so tired of it all. “Why can’t you just tell me?” 

**[ The higher power prevents me from telling you. ]**

Great. More stupid riddles and vague answers. Noctis drops his hands and just sits there, the reality weighing down on his shoulders. He was never going to escape. He was never going to break the cycle. 

**[ I’m sorry, Noct. ]**

Soft fur brushes against his hands as a wet nose nudges them, ears flat. Noctis scoops him up and holds him close, Carbuncle nuzzling against his shoulder. “I just want it to end,” he whispers, his lashes are damp but no tears fall. 

Noctis wants to ask more about the previous timelines, despite the suspicion Carbuncle may not give him answers, but before he can collect himself in order to do so, a gust of wind comes seemingly out of nowhere. The orbs of light swirl in every direction and its like being stuck in a blizzard, unable to see anything. When it finally dies down, Carbuncle is gone, along with the phone and beautiful scenery, and he’s left alone in a void of darkness. Noctis grits his teeth, digging his hands into his hair as he hunches over, forehead nearly touching the nonexistent floor, a scream of agony and frustration rips free from his throat. 

_You are not alone._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I'm going heavy on the angst. I promise it'll lighten up as the story progresses.


	6. Mad-Behemoth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempers flare again, but Noctis reaches his breaking point this time around.

His next match with Luche goes horribly.

It’s been almost a week since Noctis was visited by Carbuncle in his dream and he hasn’t seen him since, but what was revealed to him is enough to have been distracting him. _Who else could possibly know about the looping timeline?_ Noctis has been watching his friends closely the since the dream, looking for any signs that give them away, but none of them act any differently than they normally do. None of them seem worried, none of them seem anxious, and none of them seem like they want to tell him something but can’t. Their normalcy is driving him nuts even though it shouldn’t. He’s been distracted and spacey and that’s exactly what led to Luche knocking him on his flat on his ass again. For the third time in one match. In less than twenty minutes. 

“Get up. We’re not done,” Luche prompts, seeming irritated at how easily he’s knocked around his opponent, hardly out of breath, not a hair out of place.

Noctis is the opposite, winded, and glaring up at him. “Maybe I don’t want to keep going.” He doesn’t like sparring with Luche. The guy doesn’t hold back, but that isn’t the problem. The problem is that it feels he specifically goes out of his way to be harder on Noctis when they engage in a mock battle. 

“Then drop out. We don’t need you.” Luche shakes his head as if he ever believed differently and turns away to leave. “You’re nothing but a burden. I won’t have you weighing down the team, especially out in the battlefield. You would get us all killed.” 

The words sting. He’s a prince, a future King. He’s supposed to take care of his people. Be there for them. He’s no good if he’s seen as useless or a burden. The words should destroy him, suck the fight out of him. Yet they do the opposite. They light a raging inferno inside him, one that strives to prove Luche wrong. Unfortunately, he’s not thinking too clearly, blindsided by his anger. 

In the blink of an eye, Noctis is on his feet and tackling Luche to the ground. They roll around for a good minute, exchanging grunts and curses and blows. The older Glaive is more experienced, they all are more experienced, but that doesn’t keep Noctis from getting in one good swing. There’s suddenly shouting and the rush of footsteps. Hands are grappling him and dragging him off of Luche. He digs his heels into the ground and squirms. His lip is bleeding, copper dances across his tongue, but he still tries to shrug the hands off of him as he glares from under dark bangs. 

“Who knew the Prince was such a little spitfire?” Tredd remarks from the sidelines, sounding more humored than anything else, and getting quiet chuckles from his buddies. 

Luche looks somewhere between miffed and shocked, wiping the edge of his mouth, though there’s no blood. 

“Hey, hey! Come on now.” Pelna is the one who pulled him off Luche and is still holding him back. “Calm down. There’s no need for this.” 

Crowe is there too, only a few feet away, looking worried. Libertus and Nyx stand near Luche, their forms tense and masked with surprise. Noctis gives one final kick at the ground before sagging in Pelna’s grip. 

“Attacking your superior is grounds for suspension,” Luche states, getting to his feet. 

It sets Noctis off again. Pelna’s grip had loosened and he’s able to shrug out of the hold, making a beeline straight for Luche. 

Nyx moves forward. The man tries to respect the Prince’s space, hand lightly pressing against his chest in hopes to stop him, almost like he’s afraid to touch him. But Noctis swerves around and continues his march towards Luche. Nyx swings out an arm and curls it around his waist to haul him back. “Enough.” 

“Get off of me!” Noctis snaps angrily, trying to shove Nyx’s arm away, only to find Nyx lifting him up on his shoulder. 

And just like that, he’s carried out of the training hall while the others are left to stare after them. 

———

“You’re not allowed to be here,” Noctis mutters from the stool he’s currently sitting on. 

“I didn’t see anyone stopping me,” Nyx counters, busying himself with the freezer. 

There are certain areas and sections of the Citadel that Glaives are not allowed to go. Each of them are expected to memorize these places and should they be caught, penalties will follow. The private kitchen is one of them. 

“Want to tell me what that was all about?” Nyx asks, disposing of some ice cubes into a rag before shutting the door and stepping over to the sink. He turns on the faucet and runs the makeshift bag of ice underneath it for a moment. 

“Luche being an ass?” 

“No. You going mad-behemoth on him.” Turning off the sink, Nyx walks back over to him and leans down a bit. Raising the make-shift ice pack, he gently presses to Noctis split lip. “Hold it there. The sting will stop soon enough.” 

Noctis bites back a hiss at pain, but obeys. He can’t meet Nyx’s gaze, so he stares at the floor. 

“Care to give me an explanation?” Nyx crosses his arms, leaning back against the island, and frowns. “It isn’t like you to lose your cool like that.” 

“You don’t know anything about me,” Noctis grits out, flashing him a glare, before dropping his gaze again. “None of you do.” 

“I know you don’t like to get up early.” 

He doesn’t bother trying to hide his eye roll. “You and everyone in the Citadel.” 

“I know you’re not too fond of coffee.” 

“I really don’t think that counts.” Noctis sighs in relief against the numbness seeping into his lip. 

“I know you’ve been training hard and once you put your mind to something, you push forward, no matter what obstacles get in your way.” 

Noctis goes silent. All the fight and bark and bite is leaving his body, leaving a tired Prince in its wake. “Does it matter?” He lowers the ice pack to look at Nyx. “Is there any point in fighting for something when you can’t change it, no matter how hard you try?” _No matter how many chances you get?_

“Who says you can’t change something?” 

Noctis isn’t sure how to respond. He can’t tell Nyx about his ordeal and expecting him to understand without telling him would be asking too much. “You can’t change the past…” Which is where he assumes the root of this problem is. That could be why Carbuncle told him he couldn’t stop it. That would make sense. 

“No, no you can’t.” Their a twinge of sadness in Nyx’s voice as he agrees. 

Calloused hands take Noctis’s own which holds the ice pack, guiding it back to his lip. He blinks, finding himself staring into silver-blue eyes. There’s subtle tattoos on Nyx’s face that he’s never noticed before and he has to resist the temptation to reach out with his free hand and touch them. 

“But you can change the future.” 

And Noctis almost believes him. For a second, he believes he can break the cycle, because Nyx sounds sincere and determined. There’s something powerful behind his words and Noctis suddenly wants to spill everything to him, to see if he still believes that after knowing that they’re all trapped in an inescapable time loop, and to hear those words again regardless.

“I’m in trouble, aren’t I?” He changes the subject, gaze flicking away as warmth creeps into his cheeks upon realizing he had been staring into Nyx’s eyes like a dazed fool. “Drautos is going to kill me.” 

Nyx’s hands fall away finally and one corner of his mouth tips up. “Maybe we can convince him I’m a bad influence.” 

“What, do you lash out on your teammates like a…what did you call me? A ‘mad-behemoth’?” Despite the pain it brings to his lip, Noctis can’t help but grin. Oh, he’s definitely going to hear it from Drautos, and his father too. Can’t change that, there will be some type of punishment. But this feels worth it, especially when his comment gets a laugh out of Nyx, who has crossed his arms again and is shaking his head in a hopeless gesture. 

He decides he won’t tell Nyx about his situation. Ever. No matter how much he wants to, because it’s not his place to shatter such a powerful resolve. If that’s what has kept Nyx going – and keeps him going – Noctis has no right to take that away from him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another sweet moment with Nyx and Noctis. I couldn't resist. Things will begin picking up in the next chapter.


	7. Dusk Falls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis finally gets his chance, but things don't go according to plan.

Not good. 

Noctis knew he was going to get into trouble. With Drautos and his father. They were both going to give him individual lectures. That part was expected. But both of them at once, in the same room, fixing him with disappointed frowns and hard eyes? That isn’t what he expects. He stands before his father’s desk in his office. The interior was luxurious, plush carpet, the finest furniture, the mesh of portraits and frosted lamps along the walls, and enough space to fit a dozen people while still having breathing room. 

Regis leans back in his seat, rubbing his forehead. He looks like he always does. Tired. Silver-gray hair and dark green eyes, dressed in his usual attire. His cane is propped up against the end of his desk, within reach. Just like Insomnia always falls in every new timeline, it’s King always dies. “Explain this to us again.” 

“I…got upset with Luche and took things too far.” Noctis can’t meet his father’s gaze, so he focuses on a spot on the wall right above his father’s head. 

“Do you want to quit?” Regis asks as he leans forward again, resting his arms on his desk and clasps his hands together. “All you had to do was tell us if it was too much. We would have understood.” 

As if to confirm His Majesty’s words, Drautos gives a curt nod. 

“I don’t want to quit,” Noctis replies with firmly, lips forming a tight line. “I’m just…fed up with doing nothing but training.” His ramrod posture slackens slightly. “I’ve been training since I was ten. I can use multiple types of weapons and warp. I’m tired of training. I want to do more.” He’s surprised at the honesty that spills from his own mouth. 

Regis looks torn, his eyes glassy, but he sighs and hardens his face. “Noctis, I’m not comfortable with you going out on the frontlines. Not until Drautos and his men have told me they are confident you stand a fighting chance out there.” 

Noctis opens his mouth to protest, but the other tenant of their meeting intervenes. 

“Your Majesty, if I may?” Drautos takes a step forward, arms locked behind his back, his posture radiating only respect. “I’m taking a team out tonight to take care of a small group of daemons that have been gathering outside the Wall. With your permission, we could take His Highness with us.” He pauses, allowing the information to sink in before continuing, “it may be just what he needs in order to know if he truly wants to be a part of the Kingsglaive, and I give you my word no harm will befall him.” 

Noctis heart thunders in his chest in anticipation and he wonders how his father and Drautos don’t hear it. Did Drautos really just give him a chance? To do more than training? To actually go out on the field? He slowly looks back to his father, hopeful and silently pleading. 

Regis is quiet for a long time, maybe too long for comfort. His eyes are downcast, hands clasped so tightly, his knuckles are bleached white. “How long with the mission last?” 

“I’m aiming for us to be back by morning tomorrow, so long as we don’t run into any problems.” 

And that’s all it takes for Regis to agree, though he does so reluctantly. 

Dusk is coming, chasing away the light of day with the passing hours. They’ve all been briefed on the mission and Drautos made it clear the Prince was going along with their team. Now, there are whispers floating around as they’re suiting up in the adjoining room connected to the training hall. Lockers opening and shutting aren’t enough to drown them out. Noctis knows they’re talking about him, knows they’re watching and staring at him. He can feel the disapproving looks burning holes into his body. He tries to ignore it as he tightens the straps on his boots. They’re taking a team of twenty-four, plus Noctis himself. He hopes they don’t think they’re going to have to babysit him, because they’re not. And he’ll gladly prove that to them. 

Someone pats his shoulder and he looks over to see Crowe. She’s not dressed in her battle attire. None of the mages are going. It’s supposed to be a simple and quick mission, their magic won’t be needed. 

“Good luck out there. Don’t do anything Nyx would do.” She grins. 

“Like disobey orders?” He playfully rolls his eyes. “I would _never_ do that.” 

“Smart ass.” The grin is still there while she crosses her arms. “Be careful, alright? And please, listen to them. Yes, even Luche. There’s no such thing as an easy mission, no matter how simple they seem.” 

“Yeah, yeah.” Heaving a sigh, he lowers his leg from the bench, satisfied with the buckles. “I’m not a complete heathen.” 

“I don’t know, I’ve heard some stories about a certain rebellious prince as he grew up.” 

“Buzz off.” He ducks his head to hide a smile and busies himself with shrugging on the standard Kingsglaive coat. It’s a smidge too big for him, but there’s nothing smaller, and they don’t have time to take measurements and do alterations right now. “What do you think?” he asks Crowe as he looks himself over once he’s slipped on the fingerless gloves. It doesn’t have any personal touches, like some of the others do on theirs, but it feels comfortable and easy to move around in. The material is pretty durable, too. 

“Very warrior-prince like,” she compliments with a mock bow, gentle laughter falling from her lips before she straightens. “You’ll be the best looking Glaive out there.” 

“Then I guess you haven’t seen all of us,” a voice cuts in. Nyx stands there, a smirk teasing the edges of his mouth, and looks to Noctis. “Got your transmitter?” 

Noctis taps the ear he has it in. Luche had, grudgingly, given it to him earlier. “Should I turn it on now?” 

“No. We’ll switch them on when the vans go beyond the Wall.” Nyx waits a beat, which turns into three, and he raises a brow. “What else?” 

“Pull my hood up before we get out of the van,” Noctis recites. “I got it.” 

“And…?” 

The man was going full on exam on him. He exhales and continues calmly. “Nyx, please. I was listening when Drautos told me, alright? Make sure my transmitter is on before the mission starts, hood up before I leave the van, don’t do anything stupid, fall back if I get injured, don’t do anything stupid, call for back-up if I’m injured, don’t do anything stupid, and listen to orders.” 

“So long as you understand the whole part about not doing anything stupid.” It’s Nyx’s turn to grin. 

Oh. Oh it’s back again. That foreign feeling in the pit of his stomach. Swallowing, Noctis clears his throat and averts his gaze. “Hard to forget when you’ve all been beating it into my head.” 

“Glaives!” Drautos barks. “It’s time to move out. You’ve got five minutes to meet me outside. Anyone who’s late will be written up and stuck on gatewatch next week.” 

_Show time._

The anxiety hits him after they’ve all piled into the vans and start pulling away from the citadel. He doesn’t know where it comes from. This is what he wants, what he’s been trying so hard for, so why is he suddenly nervous? Nyx, who’s seated next to him in the back of the van, squeezes his knee reassuringly and Noctis wonders if his anxiety is that transparent. Six, he hopes not. There’s a comfort that comes from having Nyx close, the warmth of his hand seeps through the fabric of his pants. Noctis focuses on breathing and closes his eyes as Nyx’s hand leaves his knee. Something doesn’t feel right, but he can’t place it. So he tries to think about anything else. Like how he can’t wait to tell his friends about this when he gets back or show his father he made it out in one piece and there’s nothing to worry about. 

The day’s light is almost completely gone by the time they’ve left the safety of the magical barrier, casting shadows from the slabs and pieces of broken concrete and metal. There used to be buildings here, once, long ago. Ever since the Wall was withdrawn, the area became a war zone, overrun with daemons, fauna, and Magitek fire. Eventually, it molded into the state it was in now, barely recognizable as once being part of civilization. This is what Nyx tells him as they get out of the vehicle. Two others hop put behind them, carrying packs. They’ll have to set up camp once they’ve exterminated the daemon cluster and wait for sunrise before they can return to Insomnia again. Noctis is still listening to Nyx speak as they move away from the van. He see’s Libertus getting out of one of the other vans– 

There’s an explosion from the van they had been in just seconds prior, heat scorching his backside. The force sends him flying into a slab of concrete nearby, his head bouncing against it. Hard. His body crumples to the ground, vision going dark instantly. 

Noctis Lucis Caelum is pretty sure he just died. 

_Again._


	8. No rest for the Weary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Noctis just can't catch a break.

This isn’t like how the timeline typically restarts after he dies. It starts him waking up in his bed the morning of his birthday. Ignis had let him sleep in and brings him breakfast in bed. Sunlight streams in through his windows and he has the entire day to himself. 

This is nothing like that. 

He’s vaguely aware of noise, despite the pain gripping his skull and his lack of sight. The smell of smoke and something burning is near suffocating. He can’t see, everything is pitch black. _Six, is he blind?!_ He wills his body to move, to do something, but it doesn’t do anything. Noctis realizes he’s still conscious, but barely. There’s chaos everywhere. Shouting and yelling, but it’s muffled, like he’s under water and he can’t move to look. 

“Hey!” 

Someone has their hand on his shoulder, they’re pulling back his hood, then there’s a hand on the side of his face. Light. He can see, but his vision is blurry. 

“Where are you hurt?” 

“m'he…d,” he mumbles out, knowing it isn’t coherent. 

But whoever this is seems to understand enough. Fingers gently probe around his head, burying in dark strands. “I’m going to roll you over on your back.” It sounds like Pelna. 

Noctis hisses as his body is slowly rolled. His body aches, but he doesn’t think anything is broken. Nothing really hurts except his head. 

“Shit,” Pelna murmurs. 

Noctis’s head lolls to the side and he’s pretty sure he loses consciousness, though it’s not for long. There’s pain exploding near his left shoulder that brings him back in a flash. He tries to struggle as a broken cry rips from his throat. Hands hold him down, another set of his hold his head. He’s confused. Had Niflheim showed up and grabbed him? Were they torturing him? What about the other Glaives? Another cry echoes around him as it rushes from his mouth, his eyes are damp and screwed shut. It feels like there’s something jagged and sharp stabbing into his shoulder, buried in his flesh, moving. There are people speaking, but their words are garbled to his ears. The pain is too much to focus on anything else. 

Then it’s gone, though there’s a low throbbing that remains, and Noctis goes limp against the hands that were restraining him. He can feel his consciousness sinking again amidst the advancing darkness. 

“Stay awake.” The voice is familiar. Comforting. Hands cradle his face. “Stay awake for me.” 

Noctis makes a noise of protest, but he tries, because that voice sounds devastated. He tries so hard, but his consciousness is gradually swallowed by the darkness. There are no nightmares here. No dreams. Just an endless sea of black he floats in. It’s quiet and peaceful, where nothing and no one can touch him… 

———

Noctis doesn’t wake up in his bed. He knows because whatever he’s laying on is nowhere near as comfortable as his bed. He blinks sluggishly. There’s the light pitter patter of rain, but that’s not right. It never rains the morning of his twentieth birthday. It’s chilly, something that doesn’t happen in his room. 

“Awake?” 

Noctis is slow to respond or move. His body feels stiff. He’s alive. He hasn’t died. He spots Nyx seated on the floor, near an entrance of what appears to be the flap of a tent. Rain falls steadily just outside. He tries to to get up, only to be hindered by the pain invading his skull and the rolling of his stomach. His left arm is in a make-shift sling. He crumples back into the semi-soft material of what appears to be a sleeping bag, a noise of discomfort slipping free. Bandages cover the upper half of his bare chest and wrap over his left shoulder.

“Easy,” Nyx murmurs, suddenly at his side. 

“Wha… What happened?” His throat is hoarse and dry, his mouth feels like the driest part of Duscae. 

An arm slips under his shoulders, gently lifting him. Noctis’s lips form a tight line, afraid he might throw up all over Nyx, but there’s an uncapped canteen nudging his mouth and Noctis parts his lips willingly. The water is lukewarm and doesn’t taste the greatest, but it soothes his throat as it slides down easily. 

“There was a bomb on our van,” Nyx states as he lays Noctis back down and caps the canteen, taking a seat next to him. “We think we arrived earlier than who ever set it expected. Pretty sure we were supposed to be inside the van when the bomb went off.” 

“Is everyone…?” He already knows the answer, because the driver was still in their van when the bomb went off. 

Nyx closes his eyes for a moment before shaking his head. “We lost four. Our driver was killed instantly. The other three were killed by flying shrapnel. We were hoping one would pull through, but he succumbed to his injuries.” He pauses, before explaining, “you had a piece of shrapnel in your shoulder. We got it out, but we don’t know the extent of the damage.” 

“The medic…” The medic was one of the three who died. Noctis feels sick. 

“You took a nasty hit to your head,” Nyx continues, choosing not to speak concerning what they both knew of the medic. “You lost consciousness after we removed the shrapnel. We thought that you might not wake up again. If nothing else, you have a concussion. You’ve been out for several hours.” 

Noctis shifts, looking up him. The movement sends a wave of pain throughout his skull, and if takes him a few moments to find his voice again. “What about the daemons?” 

“There’s nothing to worry about. They were easy pickings for Luche and the others.” 

Noctis wants to ask more. About the bomb, if the other vans have been checked, where was Drautos, how was everyone else. But they die on his tongue. His energy has dwindled and he wants to rest more. His lids droop low, the rain a pleasant lullaby. 

The ground trembles and Noctis’s eyes fly open, wondering if he imagined it, but Nyx is on alert too, already moving to peer out the flap of the tent. Noctis uses his good arm to help him sit up, despite the pain that throbs throughout his head. “What?” 

Nyx’s jaw is clenched, but he doesn’t answer immediately. There’s hesitance radiating from his form. Finally, he turns to Noctis and gives him a stern look. “Stay put until I come back.” And then he’s gone. 

Noctis waits a beat, then another, before managing to crawl over to where Nyx had been and proceeds to crawl out. Rain soaks his hair and skin. He considers grabbing his Kingsglaive coat from inside, since it’s waterproof. He can’t see Nyx amidst the rain, but he can hear shouts and the sounds of metal clashing in the distance. 

“I didn’t expect us to meet again so soon, _Noct_.” 

Noctis freezes at the sultry voice, fear gripping his spine, and slowly focuses wide eyes to his right. 

Ardyn stands but a few feet away, peering down at Noctis with a look of adoration, but there’s a sinister glint in his eyes.

The same glint Noctis saw when the man slit his throat in the previous timeline.


	9. Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's just one hit after another. Will things ever stop?

Noctis is on his feet faster than he’s capable of and staggering back to put distance between them. Dark strands of hair plaster to his forehead and face, thunder rumbles in the distance. He’s breathing heavily, like he just ran a mile, fear curls around every single limb and is on the verge of paralyzing him. 

“Well, that’s no way to greet on old friend.” With a flourish of his hand, he removes his hat, pressing it to his chest with a mock bow. “Or don’t you remember me?” 

It’s meant to distract him, but he hears the mechanical noises behind him and summons his sword. Whirling, he manages to impale the magitek soldier. It goes slack on his sword and falls – taking Noctis with it. He panics, brought down to his knees in the process of trying to pull his sword out. Something slams into his side, forcing the air from his lungs, and he collapses. 

Someone’s forcing him on his back and them there’s weight on his midsection. Ardyn smiles down at him sickeningly sweet. “Oh, Noct. You at least remember how I like a good fight…” 

There’s another magitek near his head, who holds down his good arm in its metallic claws while its other hand presses against his forehead. Noctis is sure Ardyn is going to slit his throat again when he see’s the man pull out a dagger. Instead, he slices his own palm, looking satisfied before turning his focus on Noctis as he tucks his dagger away. 

“This is so much better than killing you. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it sooner.” There’s a black substance oozing from his palm. Ardyn reaches down with his uninjured hand to grip Noctis’s chin. “Now be a good boy and open that mouth of yours.” 

“Screw…you!” Noctis spits out between gritted teeth, struggling. He kicks at the ground and pulls at his pinned arm. 

“Plenty of time for that later, when you’re far more… docile.” His hand drifts down, curls around the Prince’s throat and squeezes. A low, dark chuckle rumbles in his chest. “The Brigadier General seemed to enjoy your company before. I’m sure this time will be no different.” 

Noctis resists the urge to gasp out as his oxygen is slowly cut off and Ardyn’s hand edges closer to his mouth… 

In a blinding flash of light and popping noises, the magitek releases him and goes down. Then Ardyn’s suddenly gone and he can breath again. Sucking in gulps of air around his coughing fit, Noctis rolls over on his good shoulder. It takes him a minute to collect himself, but when he does, he lifts his head. Nyx and Ardyn stand in a typical show down stance. 

“You can’t have him. Not again. I won’t let you.” 

_Again?_

“Hero of the Kingsglaive,” Ardyn sneers, not bothering to hide the irritation in his voice or across his face. “Must you be such a thorn in my side?” Like a veil being dropped, his demeanor shifts, and a cruel smile dances on his lips. “Is it because you had to betray the very person you swore to protect…by taking his very life and making him repeat this horrible cycle again?” His eyes slide pointedly at Noctis. 

Noctis realizes and his blood goes cold. His hand unconsciously goes to his abdomen. Where he was stabbed, betrayed, by someone he had trusted. He always wondered if it had been one of his friends or one of the allies they had made during their travels. But Nyx? He had no recollection of Nyx. Ever. 

“Yes, Nyx,” Ardyn confirms, as if he’s able to read his thoughts, a sinister grin on his face. “The dear hero betrayed you. Took your life. Why,”–he makes a flamboyant show of his arms–“compared to what he did, I’m practically a saint.” 

The comment sets Nyx off, who’s livid, and disappears in a burst of borrowed magic. But there are more Magitek who’ve gathered and block Nyx from landing his attack. 

“Next time, dear boy,” Ardyn promises as the wind kicks up. From above, an airship is landing, and Ardyn makes way to disappear inside. 

Once the airship is gone and the magitek have been defeated, it’s quiet, with only the rain making any noise between them. 

Noctis starts to move, trying to push himself up, and spies Nyx approaching him. “Don’t!” He snaps, shooting him a glare and struggles to his feet. His arm has fallen from its sling and hangs limply at his side. 

“Your shoulder is bleeding. We need to tend to it.” Nyx talks softly, hands out, as if Noctis is a wounded animal that will flee any second. 

Maybe Noctis is, in a way. His brain is trying to process so much, his head hurts twice as much. Nyx killed him in the most recent timeline. Nyx knows about the looping timeline. But he can’t remember anything involving Nyx. Noctis doesn’t know if he should be terrified or pissed. _How is he supposed to trust one of the people who took his life? A person who knew about the timeline yet never said anything?_ He’s starting to hyperventilate, burying his hand into his hair and twisting as he clamps his eyes shut. 

A hand touches his shoulder, but Noctis knocks it away. The motion jars his shoulder, inflicting pain. He doesn’t care. “Don’t touch me!” 

“Noct.” 

It’s different from how Ardyn said it. There’s pleading and devotion behind it. There’s something else, he isn’t sure what it is, but it makes his anger subside, leaving his vulnerable emotions left. Noctis breaks. His hand masks his face, trying to hide the hot tears that burn his eyes as a sob bursts in his throat. It’s too much – all of it is too much. He can’t do this anymore. 

Nyx’s hand finds his shoulder again and when it’s not pushed away, his other hand gently pries Noctis’s hand away from his face. “Come on.” His voice is soft but firm. “The others are coming back. We can’t talk out here.” 

———

“I don’t remember you.” It’s the first thing that falls from his mouth, broken and small, as Nyx is re-bandaging his shoulder in the tent. Noctis stares down at the sleeping bag beneath him. 

“You never do.” Nyx’s voice is still soft, as if he’s afraid he’ll scare Noctis off. “In some of the timelines, we never meet.” 

“I should though!” The anger is back and Noctis jerks away from his hands as he’s finishing, instinctively covering his injured shoulder. “Especially if you were responsible for my death in one of them!” 

There’s a sadness in Nyx’s eyes, one that Noctis has never noticed before now. “It’s not that simple…” 

The flap of the tent opens, stopping Nyx from continuing, as Drautos appears. His nostrils flare, taking in the injured Prince. “What happened? 

"There was a bomb in our van, sir.” Nyx doesn’t leave Noctis’s side. He doesn’t stand to properly salute or greet him. “It went off a minute and six seconds after we had gotten out. Four died. His Highness suffered injuries as a result.” 

Drautos frowns at the clipboard in his hand, eyes narrowing. “Luche reports only your van had the bomb. The others were thoroughly checked and nothing was found.” He flips a page, raising a hand to his chin in a thoughtful manner. “How did Niflheim know we were out here?” 

Noctis wants to curl in on himself. Along with worrying about both Ardyn and Nyx, now he has to worry about some assassination plot. “I want to rest.” When feels their eyes on him, he takes a shaky breath. “Alone. Please. I’m tired.” 

Drautos sighs, lowering the clipboard. “I’m sorry, Your Highness. After what just occurred, you’re required to have another Glaive with you at all times. Being a Glaive yourself doesn’t ignore the rule that comes with having royal blood.” 

“Then, not him,” Noctis mumbles, referring to Nyx. “He…” He swallows as the truth dies on his tongue. Not that Drautos would believe him. Noctis can’t be around him right now, even if he does have the answers he’s wanted all this time. Something about it hurts. “He should take a break himself.” 

“I’ll have Libertus take my place,” Nyx responds, stoic yet polite. “Rest well, Your Highness.” 

Both Nyx and Drautos step outside, the flap closing behind them, and Noctis lays down on his good side. Exhaustion sweeps him up in his greedy claws almost instantly. 

When they return to the citadel at dawn the following morning, they’re down four men and one van. The rain has moved on, and the sun promises to shine today as it crests the horizon. To Noctis, it feels like he’s been gone an eternity. There’s a few Glaives waiting when the vans pull in and Crowe throws her arms around Noctis as soon as he steps out, careful of his shoulder. The friendly gesture and warmth help him a little. 

Drautos had ordered a medic to meet them at the Wall, who had treated Noctis injuries before allowing them to continue to the citadel. There didn’t appear to be anything troubling about his head, just a minor concussion, surprisingly. His shoulder a little different. He could move his arm, but it hurt. The medic advised keeping it bandaged and in a sling for at least a week. 

“Hey, where’s my hug?” Libertus asks, sounding only slightly offended. 

“You’re not the one who almost got blown up,” she responds before putting Noctis at arms length and looking him over. “You okay? You look like crap.” 

It’s almost enough to make him smile. Almost, but not quite. “Yeah… Just tired.” He hadn’t slept well. At all. For a variety of reasons. 

“I’ve reported the situation to His Majesty,” Drautos states. “His orders are clear: That you are to remain within the walls of the citadel until we have a suspect in custody.” 

Noctis wants to groan. He can’t even return to the comfort of his own apartment. “Fine. I’ll be in my room, then.” 

“I expect your written report before tomorrow evening,” Drautos says firmly. 

“Yes, Captain.” Noctis hurries with a quiet murmur of parting with Crowe. It doesn’t take him long before he realizes he has a shadow. He stops and glances over his shoulder. Nyx stands there, unashamedly. He hasn’t really seen Nyx since he and Drautos had left him alone in the tent. They had taken different vans on the return. 

“What?” Noctis turns partially. 

“Your room isn’t safe.” Nyx’s eyes watch him closely. Protectively. 

Noctis doesn’t understand and it makes him mad. “Then tell me, hero, where am I safe? ‘Cause it can’t possibly be around you.” 

Nyx’s jaw clenches before he steps forward. He places a hand on Noctis’s shoulder and leans down, his voice dropping low. “If I wanted you dead, do you think I would have stopped Ardyn?” 

The hand on his shoulder is surprisingly gentle. In fact, he could probably shake it off, if he wanted. “I don’t know! I don’t know…what to think anymore.” 

“We can’t talk here. Your room isn’t safe.” Nyx pulls back and drops his hand. “You want answers, I’ll give them to you, but not here.” 

Noctis’s heart hammers in his chest, unsure. To go somewhere alone with someone who’s killed him once already, to get the answers he’s wanted, he’s not sure what makes him more anxious. However, the tension eases from his shoulders and he lifts his chin, meeting Nyx’s gaze. “Fine. Lead the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I kinda...fought with this chapter a lot. Still not completely happy with it, but eh. Also, just in case anyone doesn't know, the person Ardyn is referring to is Caligo.


End file.
